


The Snow Queen

by Eturni



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Unapologetic use of the power of love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, parental death (offscreen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eturni/pseuds/Eturni
Summary: Be careful asking questions of the fae. They cannot lie but they can twist truths and they know more than any mortal should hope to understand.Crowley has a lot of questions that aren't being answered by the adults in his life. When the price of answers asked of the fae turns out to be a little too high, Aziraphale will do all that he has to in order to get him back.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28
Collections: "O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange 2020" [OLHTS discord server]





	The Snow Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Sparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely Val who requested "Fairy Tales or romantic myths done earnestly"  
> I figured that the tale of the Snow Queen is a good fit for the boys given the themes, and I even got to be wintery into the deal. Hope you enjoy <3

_Be careful asking questions of the fae. They cannot lie but they can twist truths and they know more than any mortal should hope to understand._

Aziraphale remembered well the fear trembling in the voice. Adults weren’t supposed to get scared, but Crowley’s Mother had been _afraid_. Well and truly afraid at Crowley’s insistence on seeking out and playing with the fair folk.

She had always been kind to Aziraphale. Seemed to think that he was a good influence on Crowley, so She encouraged them going out to play when they visited Crowley’s grandma; despite the fact that they still ended up in the woods more often than not. She seemed happy regardless, at least until She’d disappeared.

Crowley was quieter after that. Sadder. Still, he moved in with his grandmother and that meant so much more time together, especially during the summers. He was two doors along the row of terraced houses that backed onto the greenway. They set up a small delivery basket between their windows with a length of clothesline and metal pegs to anchor them.

Aziraphale thought it was quite ingenious of Crowley, though Gabriel had sneered at the setup and had to be kept out of his room for fear of him sabotaging it. Madame Tracy, whose house sat firmly between them, seemed to not mind at all so long as they didn’t disturb the herb garden window box. Aziraphale’s own parents were largely indifferent to the whole affair, so long as Aziraphale kept quiet with his books when he was in the house and returned by dinner time when they went out to play.

Aziraphale spent their first full summer together doing everything in his power to ease the way that Crowley seemed to curl in on himself; a gangle of awkward limbs trying to hold himself together through the grief.

He liked to think that he succeeded, to some degree at least. They passed notes between houses to make plans and played out on the greenway or in the woods as often as possible so that Crowley could chase down faeries that Aziraphale never managed to spot. Once or twice they snuck out to the hill with Crowley’s telescope and the smallest of picnics made from pilfered sweets and Crowley taught him about the stars.

Increasingly frequently they found themselves invited to Madame Tracy’s for tea and scones. Enough that Aziraphale had to be careful about calling her that in front of his family. It was _Ms Potts_ to them, and he shouldn’t be near her if possible. See, Madame Tracy was a witch. She was a nice witch, though. She always invited them in warmly and let Aziraphale help with making the scones while Crowley pottered in the garden, tending to the herbs.

Crowley tended to soak up the attention when he could, as well as launching into questions the moment they were all safely inside. Being in the business of witchcraft, after all, meant that Madame Tracy knew a lot about faeries and never ridiculed Crowley for his lingering belief in them.

Aziraphale had to admit that even he was guilty of disparaging the other’s belief in the fair folk on occasion. They were almost teenagers, after all.

Still, it was a long, warm summer and the broken edges of Crowley’s heart did seem to round off a little as summer turned steadily to autumn and Crowley’s first year of school in the area started.

Crowley made few friends, declaring with stubborn pride that the fae were more interesting than nearly anyone else at school. He stuck with Aziraphale despite the bullying that both of them edured and honestly Aziraphale thought it was nice. Admittedly, the time spent at school did rather highlight the amount of time that Crowley continued to spend trekking into the woods.

Aziraphale tried not to think about it too much. It was autumn. The leaves were lovely and Crowley always came back with the best conkers, even if they were also getting a little too old for that by now.

He tried to ignore the questions Crowley was always talking about. The _where and why, and what does everyone else know? They left me here with her so quickly. Why? Why? **Why?**_

If faeries weren’t real, Aziraphale reasoned, he had no need to worry about the amount of time that Crowley spent in the woods. He felt less certain about that line of reasoning every time Crowley came back looking sleep deprived and far-away. Even Tracy had woven him a bracelet of young rowan wood and made him swear not to go out without it.

“Be careful asking questions-” she’d fretted as she wound the band over his wrist “-and never tell the fae your true name. I’d ask you not to go if I thought I’d half a chance of convincing you.”

He’d only pulled his school tie looser and huffed. “I know _that_. S’why Mum gave me a middle name. No one knows it any more but me.”

It had seemed like a very lonely thing at the time but Crowley had sounded almost proud. Aziraphale tried to feel happy that he could react that way where his Mother’s memory was concerned. So often it seemed to only cause him pain.

By the time winter rolled around Crowley had become more sullen, apparently unsatisfied with the fruits of his searches in the woods. Aziraphale tried to ease things as best he could.

When the first snowfall threatened the sky, 'easing things’ took the form of Aziraphale rushing over to Crowley’s house with some of the best cocoa mix in the world and a thick fluffy blanket. His grandma consented to making the cocoa after an embarrassing amount of pleading but Aziraphale felt like it was worth it to see the way Crowley looked at him when he burst through the door; blanket draped around his neck and a cup in each hand.

“Aziraphale! Come on, look at the snow!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped to the little chest that formed the window seat and placed the cups on the ledge before throwing the blanket over the both of them.

“It’s beautiful.”

Crowley nodded and took an absent sip of his drink. “Yeah, but that’s not the point. The _point_ is that the first snowfall brings the queen of the snow bees. That’s _gentry_. They’re so much more powerful than regular fae. They would know what the others don’t.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale deflated a little, sipping at his own cocoa distractedly. “Well, yes I- I rather imagine that would make you happy, but… Would it not be nice to just _enjoy_ something for a while? Madame Tracy does say that these faeries are quite dangerous and I’m sure that would make a royal moreso.”

Crowley snorted. “Decided to start believing me, have you?”

Aziraphale drummed his fingers guiltily against his mug as Crowley pointedly took another sip. “Things that are important to you are important to me, regardless of…” how true they were “my misgivings.”

“Thanks,” Crowley gently tapped a fist against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine though. I just need to ask. Just need to know.”

“What if you don’t like the answer? What if she lies?” Aziraphale felt a little bad pushing, but it seemed truly unhealthy.

Crowley rolled his eyes, like Aziraphale had said something foolish. For a moment it was so much like Uriel he had to hold back a flinch. “The fae can’t _lie_ and I’ll be listening for what they omit.”

He quieted a little for a moment, looking out of the window with a deep intensity. “I don’t care if I don’t like the answer. I just want… I want to _know_. I want closure. I just want an answer.”

Aziraphale felt an ache in his heart at how lost Crowley looked for a second. He was just reaching out to gently catch his arm when the other bolted out of the blanket and to the very edge of the window, fumbling with the latch until he could throw it open.

“No, never!” He called, triumphant, as his hand shot out into the chilly air.

“Crowley, wha-”

“ _Shhhh angel,_ it’s Crawly when fae are around,” he reprimanded, though his eyes were alight and he was grinning. 

“I- what do you mean? Angel? I-”

Crowley grinned and waved him off, bringing a finger closer to himself. He’d caught a snowflake, though it was rapidly melting against the other’s finger. “I need an answer. About my Mother. What’s your price?”

Aziraphale grimaced into the awkward silence following.

“Fine. What happened to my Mum? Why did they send me here so quickly, before they could have known She was gone?” Crowley scowled after another long moment. “Second then. Why?”

Another beat. The hand Crowley had been holding up went suddenly limp as he let out a noise like a wounded animal. It looked, for just a second, like frost coated Crowley’s eyes and sunk into his jumper. Aziraphale hoped it was just a trick of the light. Somehow this time he didn’t convince himself quite so well.

It took too long to get Crowley to respond, though it was probably mere seconds, and his friend simply insisted that he go home when he finally came out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into. Aziraphale didn’t like it.

He liked it less when Crowley refused to come out to play in the snowfall the following day. Crowley took the letter sent by basket to his window but made no reply.

Aziraphale took to his old habit of wringing at his hands until they were almost raw.

After that, Crowley changed. He was crueler. When they returned to school he shunned everyone and was even slightly more distant with Aziraphale. He taunted Gabriel and the others into fights out in the open where they could be caught; took advantage of the others who were struggling to redirect the bullies’ ire onto them instead of himself or Aziraphale.

When spring came he took to wearing sunglasses at the slightest hint of the sun. Big buggers that hid most of his expression and anything he could be thinking. He slipped off into the woods increasingly, ignoring his grandmother’s attempts to keep him at home and Madame Tracy’s warnings. He followed flies and maggots from animal corpses deeper into the woods than Aziraphale dared to go. He followed toads down to the edge of a too-still lake.

Sometimes, Aziraphale thought he saw a flash of hair and rotten flesh and ragged clothing before he chickened out of going any further. He was scared, and finding cuttings from Tracy’s window boxes in their shared basket rarely did anything to make him feel any better. He finally took to calling the other Crawly whenever they were out in the woods. Just in case.

Aziraphale knew it wasn’t like Crowley, but seemed to be able to do little to stop it. He was never unkind to Aziraphale, somehow, but always so very frustrated that he didn’t understand why Crowley behaved so callously. He didn’t know _how_ to make Crowley understand that people weren’t quite so mean or deserving of his scorn as he suddenly seemed to think.

It ended in more than one argument, especially as the weather turned again to the cold.

“You should talk to Morningstar,” Crowley declared one evening as they looked out over the first snow. “The snow queen. He’ll make sure you understand.”

Aziraphale grumbled the following morning as he was dragged out into the snow but he was secretly hoping to be able to build a snowman together after, if he could just get this over with, and so went without complaining too loudly.

They weren’t quite at the edge of the trees when Aziraphale spotted him. A tall, elegant figure. Pale skin in white furs and a pale tailored suit. His eyes were red and Aziraphale’s stomach turned to water as his gaze landed on the two of them. He stopped dead; ignoring the pull on his arm as Crowley tried to keep going.

“C’mon angel. He’s not gonna talk to you from here. Besides, it’s rude to stand like that, and you know how fae are for manners.”

Aziraphale shook his head mutely for a moment and pulled Crowley back towards him defensively.

The faerie smiled at him. It was terrible. “Please, come and join me to talk. I’m Morningstar, may I have your name..?”

“This is Angel.” Crowley bit immediately, fear colouring his voice.

“I’m Angel,” Aziraphale nodded in agreement; terror still locking his legs as Crowley pulled him slowly towards the man.

“He needs to be told the truth. About how humans are, about all the cruelty. He’ll come with us. You’re always happy for more friends, right? We can both be fae,” Crowley pressed, still dragging him through uncertain steps.

“You want to come with us?” The faerie raised an eyebrow, his smile sly and challenging at once.

“No,” he denied, at the same time Crowley declared “Yes!”

His friend turned to him, a slightly desperate look in his eyes. “Yes. Aziraphale, come on. You can come with me. We can run away together and never have to worry about our families, or how we’re treated, or dying, or anything!”

“Run away…” Aziraphale considered the thought, chest constricting. “That would be- but no. I couldn’t. We can’t, Crow-Crawly. We belong here, no matter what that means sometimes. You’re perfectly human, just like me. I couldn’t be one of them.”

Crowley’s face twisted. He looked down at his wrist and ripped the rowan bracelet from his wrist. “Fine, enjoy your mortality,” he half-spat, though the look in his eyes was more betrayal than anger.

It left Aziraphale feeling numb with cold in its wake as Crowley slipped away with Morningstar into the forest. It wasn’t until the sun came out of the clouds and pressed its warmth to his face that feeling once again seized Aziraphale. Terror and desperation above all. Crowley had just _disappeared off_ with a strange man. With faerie royalty.

He almost fell over his feet as he scrambled back to their street; heart pounding an erratic rhythm. He ignored his own house. He ignored Crowley’s.

He thumped on Tracy’s door: his fist and half his forearm pounding against the wood until the door finally opened.

Tracy stood with a kitchen knife in her hand, face hard. It softened to confusion when she saw Aziraphale there. “What’s got you so out of sorts?” She moved aside to usher him in. “I’ll make us some tea and we can have a chat.”

Aziraphale gripped her arm and shook his head, panting to catch his breath. “Crowley. The faeries took him. Or, well, one. But one is all you need, right? He went- he took the bracelet off- he’s gone and-”

Tracy paused, gently stopped his ramblings, and looked him in the eye. “You could see the folk this time?” She prompted.

At Aziraphale’s nod she sucked in air through her teeth, looking conflicted.

“What?”

She hesitated again until Aziraphale insisted. There was no way for her to get in, barred entry as she was. But if Aziraphale had seen them he could access their realm. It was dangerous and he absolutely _should not_ go. They would have to leave Crowley there.

What else could Aziraphale do at that?

Madame Tracy loaded him up with as many talismans as she could. St John’s Wort - _for your anxieties dearie, so you needn’t fear them_ \- and a bracelet of ash wood. An iron spike and an iron horseshoe. 

“Hold the shoe like a C if you really need it, or press it to them. Try not to get close enough that you can touch them with it though. The spike you put at the edge of the clearing. The singing will take you there, and the iron will keep the doorway open. Come back safe, dearie. Even if you can’t bring him, don’t lose yourself.”

He nodded, clutching his items close before slipping them into various pockets on his parka.

He wasn’t entirely certain he believed it, despite his first instinct being to seek out Tracy rather than the police, but he went into the woods regardless. The shadows seemed to bear down closer than they ever had when he walked with Crowley and he found himself twisting the bracelet on his wrist nervously as he went. It certainly all felt dangerous and supernatural enough.

By the time the music started he was about ready to turn back. He gripped at the ash tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he whispered to himself that it was just the wind. Lots of people said the wind in the trees could sound like whispering voices; surely it could sound like music too, if you were terrified and foolishly chasing after a man who’d abducted a teenager barely an hour earlier.

When the music did finally resolve itself into an eerie type of singing, Aziraphale was almost thankful. It felt somehow easier to justify as a trick of the wind through the trees that way. He reached into his pocket for the iron spike regardless, thumbing over it with every step.

He was so tense that he almost missed the path in front opening up into a clearing. He froze on the half-step inwards; hopping back on one foot until he felt clear and safe before he dropped the iron spike into the undergrowth surrounding the last tree he passed. He hoped it would be enough. He hoped, at once, that this was all just a tall tale _and_ that he really could pass into the faerie realm and somehow bring Crowley back.

He wasn’t exactly certain what he expected, as he passed into the clearing. Silence was not on the list of potential options, though. Nor was the odd feeling of otherness. Like he was half a step off with the world. It was warmer, but not warm. There was no wind. No music. No animal sounds that he could make out.

Aziraphale gulped, reached for the horseshoe in his coat, and squeezed it as he walked deeper into the woods.

He wanted to feel happy when the sounds of nature started to return to the woods around him. Somehow he couldn’t, though. The sun was high above the canopy here and the flowers were blooming with no sign of frost.

He very firmly kept to the path and did not touch any of the branches that stretched out like reaching arms over the path. Even when a couple of them swung in a breeze that was not there and scratched against his face. He only tightened his fist, until his nails dug into his palms, and thought of Crowley.

Aziraphale continued walking for what felt like hours; hopelessly turned around and no longer certain which way was which. His feet started aching before long but he didn’t dare stop for fear that not moving forward somehow meant giving up.

He barely noticed the light ebbing away until he was moving in almost complete darkness. It wasn’t cold, even in the dark of the night. There was no moon, but somehow the stars gave just enough light to see the path ahead.

Whatever the path even meant for him anymore. It continued to branch in ways that made no sense, occasionally forcing him to backtrack to places he had never been before.

When he thought the light of the stars was starting to dim he finally felt something truly like despair trying to settle in his chest.

“Please. Please don’t leave me here. I just- It’s Cro-Crawly. He needs help. I have to get to him.” He looked up to the stars as though they could hear or do anything about their situation.

He’d have been embarrassed if he had anything of rationality left in him. Even if they had some sentience here they’d naturally be no more helpful than the trees or the animals or any other fae would be. It was just… It was just that they were stars. Crowley’ first and greatest love had been the stars. His memories of them huddled together against the night chill while Crowley taught him names and old tales about constellations were still some of the fondest Aziraphale had.

He stopped, for just a moment, to search the stars as though he could find an answer in them. One of them moved… or, more rightly, blurred. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, stumbling forward as it brought out of a stupor. There was no way… He knew the star though. Stars. It was Alpha centauri, Crowley’s favourite, twinned and always dancing and so close no mortal eye could ever see the space between them. Aziraphale was moving towards the subtle shift of the stars before he could think better of it.

He walked for hours longer, unsure if he was being tricked into his death or being helped. Or, of course, simply imagining it all. It seemed to matter less when it was the only option he had. The sky started to lighten and as the other stars winked out. The dancing stars continued heedless of the growing light, as defiant and bright as the North star itself.

It was only as Alpha Centauri itself started to fade that Aziraphale realised how bright _everything_ around him was. Snowbright.

He might have wept for relief at the castle he saw looming in the near distance. A snow queen, by rights, must live in a snow castle. And Aziraphale would have to look presentable.

He pulled at his clothes carefully until he looked a little more put together, and self consciously smoothed down his hair whilst wishing he had a vanity of some sort. He shook out the ends of his sleeves and took in a deep breath before marching forwards until the castle came into detail, the walls so very close.

The frost covering the door shivered for a moment before a soft glow lit up the fractals and a single flake dislodged, gently drifting towards him. It grew larger and larger as it came closer to Aziraphale; as though it had only been in perspective and had travelled miles to meet him. 

“What business do you have here?” The twirling snowflake demanded, blocking any chance of reaching the great doors beyond.

“I’m here for Crawly. I’d like to speak with the… uh, manager? The Queen? A higher authority?”

“No one is here. You are not permitted, leave.”

“Oh... fuck,” he huffed eloquently, trying desperately to appear more confident than he felt. “Well, you’d best move then dear fellow.”

“I have spoken, and I speak for the Queen. You are not permitted entry.” The looming shape declared, rather unhelpfully.

Aziraphale shuffled his clothes in indignation. “I intend to see Cro-awly, one way or another. And the other is rather messy, I’m afraid, and involves a significant amount of iron.”

The snowflake went clearer and sharp in response to this. “You dare threaten me, mortal?” It was hard to tell if the voice was amused or thoroughly offended. Maybe it could be both.

Aziraphale had very little time to consider as a snowdrift to the right of him shivered and a huge balck dog came leaping out; red eyes glowing in defiance of the light of the sun above.

He scrambled away with a startled cry; heels kicking up a spray of snow as he took maybe a dozen faltering steps back before tripping over his own feet and landing in the snowdrift with a thud.

There was a sparkle of laughter from the snowflake guard though the dog seemed entirely unphased by it. It hadn’t pressed its advantage and instead was slowly circling Aziraphale as if considering what angle to take a bite from

Aziraphale got up to his knees, swallowing thickly and tracking the beast’s movements as best he could.

“Gooood doggy. There’s no need to attack me, is there?” He cooed, voice tight with fear he’d no chance of hiding. “Little old me? No, everything’s fine. Who’s a goo-”

“What are you waiting for? Seize him!” The snowflake ordered; the sound of it seeming to shake the air.

At once the dog started forward and Aziraphale clambered to his feet, backing up and away. “You don’t want to do that. I… I have-”

He sucked in a breath as he plunged a hand into his pocket; hoping that it wouldn’t be the breaking point that had the dog leaping for his throat. He was, unfortunately, not so lucky. The creature launched itself at him; stark against the white of the world around them. Azirpahale cringed as he pulled his hand desperately out of his pocket, brandishing the horseshoe like he had a racket in his hand.

Against all odds it connected. Fine needle-like teeth scraped along Aziraphale’s hand but there was a yelp of pain, too. When he dared open his eyes the black dog was eyeing him suspiciously, the edges of its mouth burned to something white and brown beneath.

It moved again and Aziraphale stumbled back as quickly as his feet could manage it. It was only as the dog leapt once more that he remembered to change the angle of the horseshoe. A terrified voice inside of him screamed that he had no idea if it was supposed to make a C to him or a C to the creature he was fending off. Too late, of course. Far too late.

He felt the weight of the thing hit his chest; sending him reeling backwards even as the iron burned at the beast. It whimpered and yelped as Aziraphale lost his feet and careened backwards. He expected to feel snow at his back but instead felt a fizz of something along his skin as he realised he was being pushed straight into the portal that the guard had come through.

The red eyes followed him right to that barrier; shadows escaping off the thing like smoke until it almost looked like a regular dog. The sight was lost as Aziraphale’s arm came through, however. Seemingly repelled by whatever magics formed the doorway.

“Az- _Angel_?”

Aziraphale straightened up immediately from where he’d been trying to calm his panicked breathing. “Crawly!”

He spun until he clocked the other; lounging over the leg of a ridiculous little throne and with an expression closer to a smile than he’d seen on the other in some time and still with those big ridiculous glasses, even inside with no sun.

“Oh, I’m so glad you seem to be okay. I came for you. We have to go. What are you doing here?” He rambled, rushing up to where his dearest friend was and taking his hands in his with a squeeze.

He hadn’t noticed Crowley’s half-smile falling until he gently extricated his hands from Aziraphale’s, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why am I- Angel, have you seen this place? It’s amazing! It’s safe from everything out there, like I’ve been telling you for _months_. I thought you were here to join me like I asked. To come away with me.”

“No, Crawly, this isn’t real here. You can’t just disappear and leave everything else behind. I know life hasn’t been kind to you recently, but you have to live it still.”

Crowley’s face seemed to indicate that he didn’t think he _had_ to do any such thing.

“Stay here. We can have our own place in this world,” Crowley’s face gentled, reaching behind him and bringing out an impossibly perfect apple that Aziraphale was certain had not been there before. “You wouldn’t want to leave if you knew what it was like really. They won’t lie to us here. No one’s going to send us away. We could be happy here. Together.”

Aziraphale gulped down the sudden lump in his throat. “Together,” he echoed, heart aching with the temptation of it.

“Forever. No fear, no growing old. Just us, like this, always.”

Aziraphale reached out, half spellbound by the promise of a simple life with Crowley. As he grasped the apple it brushed against the ash branch, beginning to rot from the point they touched.

Aziraphale dragged in a breath; lungs suddenly burning for air and he wondered how long he’d been holding his breath without realising. He dropped the apple as though it had burned him and snatched his hand back to his chest. “It’s all tricks and contracts here. I don’t… I wouldn’t want a life always looking over my shoulder.”

“Like you don’t at home?” Crowley fired back, muscle feathering in his jaw. “Like that isn’t all lies and manipulation? At least here they’ll give you the truth about all the stupid games they play instead of pretending it’s all for your own good.”

“They’re no more honest than humans, Crawly. How many here know your name?” Aziraphale huffed, half frantic with the sense that he was going to lose this fight. “All the knowledge, all the fake pleasures here, but how many of them know you? How many of them love you? Are easy answers worth this?”

Crowley scowled, bringing down his glasses down far enough for Aziraphale to see how dark his expression had gone. “None of the answers I ever got were easy.”

“Not easy to hear, perhaps. But given as though anything about human nature is as clear as a single answer. It’s messy, I know that, but I want a _real_ life with you. I’ll go with you Crawly, wherever you want in our _own_ world.”

Crowley only tightened his jaw. “Angel, you’re being ridiculous! We could _both_ stay here. We could both become fae and be immortal and never have to worry about your lot treating you like you’re expendable. You’d probably even make a cute brownie. They get to be helpful. Get to judge liars and creeps.”

Aziraphale shook his head, heart tight in his chest at the thought of Crowley wanting to protect him so fiercely. “With their capricious games and arbitrary rules? I don’t think they’re all that different from my family at all. You _know_ that, I think, _Crawly_. You know better than to give them your name.”

Crowley fidgeted in his ornate throne as Aziraphale approached but did not deny the words. Despite himself some of the tension left Aziraphale’s shoulders at the knowledge that he hadn’t given any of them that power.

“If you were fae you couldn’t trust them with that much power over you. Would you trust me? Would you trust me with your name if you were one of them? No matter what you think of every other person.”

Up close Crowley looked half terrified, but his eyes were locked on Aziraphale like a lifeline. When Aziraphale reached he reached back, like he didn’t even have to think about it. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back the frightened breath of worry as Crowley’s hand met his. It was ice cold.

He brought the hand up in both of his, blowing warm air across frozen fingertips and gently trying to rub some of his warmth into the palm.

Crowley’s jaw worked soundlessly as he watched Aziraphale bravely (and uselessly) fighting the cold of this place for his comfort. Something seemed to soften for just a moment and Aziraphale rubbed all the harder when his heart tried to skip at that gentle look. He was beautiful, but Aziraphale couldn’t afford to falter.

He was focusing so much, in fact, that he almost yelped when Crowley’s lips pressed cold against his cheek. The breath that ticked across his ear had at least the last vestiges of warmth when Crowley whispered his ever-secret middle name only for Aziraphale to hear.

“Oh _Crowley_ ,” he breathed, soft and reverent.

Heat prickled at the backs of Aziraphale’s eyes as he squeezed Crowley’s hand harder and leaned in to kiss him; hoping to convey every bit of his suddenly full heart with the simple gesture.

The lips that he met this time were warm and when he pulled back Crowley was smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in over a year. “Okay, wherever you want,” he nodded, voice strained as he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand in return.

Somehow neither of them were surprised when, hand in hand and led by a small Jack Russel terrier, their return from the faerie realm went unhindered.


End file.
